At first it seemed harmless. A little creak whenever Lily rolled over. Then a groan every time she climbed onto it. Within weeks, the sound echoed through the entire house.
One evening, I was carrying a basket of laundry when Lily called from her bedroom.
“Mama! My bed is growling again!”
I stopped in the doorway and smiled despite my exhaustion.
“Beds don’t growl, sweetheart.”
“This one does,” she insisted, pulling Daniel’s old T-shirt up to her chin. She slept with it every night because it still carried the faintest trace of his scent. “I think there’s a tiny monster living under it.”
“If there is, tell him he owes me rent.”
She laughed.
The bed answered with a long, dramatic squeal.
Lily pointed immediately.
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